


pale green things

by Chicaroscuro



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, father-flower bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicaroscuro/pseuds/Chicaroscuro
Summary: On the Surface, no one needs King Asgore to give them hope. No one needs King Asgore to save them. No one really needs a king at all.In the Underground, someone must still tend to the flowers.





	pale green things

**Author's Note:**

> (sometimes I'll meet you out there, lonely and frightened, flicking my tongue out at the [wet leaves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBla7yCx9Yk))
> 
> this is my first time doing second-person so that's. fun?

The hike up Mount Ebott is always stained by memory.

It hardly resembles now what it was then. You recall it all clearly - the forest you'd once loved scorched by your own last desperate attacks, blackened tree stumps jutting out of the ashy (dusty) ground. Toriel at your side, her beautiful white fur gone disheveled and nearly grey. Your hands just barely touching, giving each other strength enough to not let the humans see how your gaze clung to your last view of the sky.

Now, clusters of tall stately pines give way to golden grasses and thick shrubs. It's early spring, and pale new leaves are beginning to bud on the deciduous trees. Now, finally, there are wildflowers along your path: daylilies blazing bright along the treeline, white and purple asters huddled close together, tall and vibrant black-eyed susans. You even spot some tiny clusters of bluets, their pale blue petals bright in the grass like little scatterings of four-pointed stars. The midmorning sun is warm on your shoulders.

The Surface provides such lovely variety. But you cannot bring yourself to plant a new garden, and the subterranean chill of the Underground settles over your fur like an old friend.

Here - this is still all you can allow yourself, your abandoned throne and your room full of gold. Golden flowers are a hardy plant, but you cannot carry your entire garden down the mountain with you. You doubt they would all survive, and - well, somehow the thought of your neighbors watching you do it is painful. 

Still, you cannot bear to leave this place behind. The sun might reach this far through the cave mouth, but the rain cannot. If left alone, these flowers will die. 

You tell yourself that this is why you return again and again. It doesn't exactly explain why you've been staying longer and longer each time. 

It's a strange backwards version of your old routine: go down to the garden from the Surface, find your trusty old watering can (painted with a tiny pawprint you never look too closely at) sitting near your throne, continue on to New Home to get the water. The old halls are still silver and blank, and emptier than ever. You took most of the furniture with you when you left, but of course you know that a lack of tables and chairs isn't really the problem. All the furniture in the Underground could not have made a difference. The problem is you - you, alone, were never enough to fill a home. 

(You live alone still, with the furniture you brought down the mountain. It is a smaller house, with only one bedroom. You are still not enough.)

You step carefully here. Even the clicking of your claws echoes far too loudly against the pale stone. It could become too much even at the best of times, but with the entire capitol emptied it’s downright unnerving. But despite your best efforts, you are only halfway to the kitchen when there's a loud clatter. 

You freeze, turning around to search for whatever you’ve knocked over. But there’s nothing on the floor - of course not, there’s hardly anything here for you to bump into in the first place. The sound must have come from down the hall.

Your grip tightens on the watering can. It's quiet again, but now that you're listening you can hear slight shuffling sounds, as if some small creature has made its home here in your absence. For a second, you have to smile at the idea. You've kept everything exactly the same for so long. Wouldn't it be good for  _ something  _ to live a life here?

It sounds like a nice thought. But it's the  _ children's _ door that's cracked open. You’d never begrudge anyone any of your own belongings. Theirs, though? You can’t. Not yet - and, after all this time, probably not ever. Without breathing, you move to push the door open.

Magic crackles. It's only instinct that moves you, has you ducking aside before you even fully register the tiny white bullets. They fly past your ear and fizzle out on the opposite wall.

For a moment, you and the other monster stare at each other. It's strange. He looks very like one of your golden flowers, a little face set between overlarge yellow petals. His eyes are narrowed, but his mouth is twisted oddly, as if he’s swallowing tears. The sight's enough to start a familiar guilt curdling in your stomach. All of a sudden,  _ you  _ feel like the intruder here. Maybe you should have just pretended not to hear? You don’t even live here anymore - maybe you’ve forsaken the right to claim any of this as your own.

Maybe you did that a long time ago.

"My apologies," you say tentatively. "I did not mean to startle you." You want to kneel, but even that would leave you towering above the little plant monster, and there is something is too brittle in the flower's eyes. Like he might flee if you moved wrong, or even try to fight you again.

He turns away instead of responding, small leaves curled tight against his stem. You follow his gaze to the floor. The carpet is streaked with dirt, as if he dragged himself right in on his roots. The old toys that once formed a dusty display in the corner are strewn about on the rug. There are grass stains on Asriel's favorite stuffed monster. 

Whatever the flower sees in your face makes him shift closer to the nearest toy, splaying his roots over it. It’s a little plastic robot figurine, red and blue. Chara had loved that one - they always liked action figures. It is a character they knew from the Surface, you believe, but you can’t remember its name now. "What are  _ you  _ doing here?" the flower asks in a nettled tone. "Shouldn't you be up on the surface with everyone else?"

"I might ask you the same." Not all monsters left the Underground, of course. Habit is a powerful thing - and you are hardly one to judge in that regard. But there were not many. You thought you knew them all. To find that you may have overlooked someone is disconcerting. "I came here to think," you say instead, trying to smooth over the implied question. "I find it very peaceful."

The flower turns away, petals drooping. "Fine. Whatever. This stuff is all junk anyway, you can have it.” But his roots are creeping into the toy's grooves. And...wouldn't it be nice, for someone to live a life here? 

You rise to your feet. "No, no, it is quite alright. Take as long as you like. I will be in the garden if you need me." The flower doesn’t respond. He’s still staring down at the dirty carpet. You scan the room once again, to find that everything else is still in order; the beds are made, the pictures are still on the walls. There’s that family photo you thought so much about taking with you…

“Have a nice day,” you say, and take your leave.

The rest of the afternoon passes in silence. It’s been some time now since you had the opportunity to garden, and the ache that settles into your back is comforting. You seek out the weeds beginning to sprout up amidst your golden flowers, dig them up roots and all, and lay them in a small pile. 

When you’re sure you’ve found them all, you gather the pile in one paw. A quick flare of your magic turns it all to ashes. You let them stream out between your fingers onto the ground. Too much ash in one place can make the soil too acidic, you know; you’d be better to spread them around. But it’s easier to quickly cover one pile of pale flakes, pushing the soil over it until it’s invisible. It would take forever to be gone, if it were spread all over the garden like…

You get back to work, and move a few seedlings to better soil.

It was hard to tell how old the flower monster might have been. Surely he must not be a child - he had no stripes on his person, and anyway it would be a terrible thing for a young one to have been left alone down here. He most likely  _ is  _ alone; most of the monsters who stayed behind are living in Snowdin or Waterfall. This is the first time you’ve seen anyone in New Home since the move.

Still...he did not sound very old. And it seemed like he came here just to play with the children’s toys. 

It weighs on your mind, even as you try to lose yourself in the garden. You were trying to be polite, not demanding information from someone you only just met, but the truth of it is that you also simply didn’t want to risk an argument. This is meant to be your time away from everything. You didn’t want to spoil it by offending someone. Is that selfish, though? Not to push simply because you want to keep the peace?

You cannot quite justify your choice to yourself. Had you chosen otherwise, that probably wouldn’t have gone well either. You never can get things exactly right.

By the end of the day, the flower still has not come after you. The white fur of your hands and arms are sprinkled with good dark dirt, a stark contrast that normally makes you feel as if you have done something worthwhile. But today, you simply gather your things and quickly head back into the house. The flower might still be there, after all. You can say goodbye, and ask if he needs anything before you return to the Surface. 

As luck would have it, you find him immediately. He is in the hall when you reach the top of the stairs, as if he too were about to leave.

"You're  _ still  _ here?" he grumbles, looking away as soon as he sees you. "Shouldn't you be off doing king stuff or something?"

"Ah, no.” You fold your paws. “The Queen is...handling today's business, with Frisk. The human, that is."

With Toriel and Frisk in attendance, your presence was neither required nor wanted. That is most often how it goes now. It is better that way. Those humans who are frightened of you - and there are plenty, no matter how unintimidating you try to be - are generally more comfortable with Toriel's graceful presence. 

"I know who  _ Frisk  _ is." The flower looks irritated, but you're beginning to think he’s simply annoyed by your presence here in general. This time, though, the frown turns thoughtful. "How're they doing up there?"

"Well enough. I do not see a great deal of them these days." 

"You don't?" The flower blinks, then bares his teeth suddenly. They’re sharper than you had realized, a set of fangs that almost doesn’t seem to fit in his mouth. "Well, why  _ not?  _ They were SUPPOSED to help you and Toriel out! They said - " He looks up at you and stops suddenly. "I mean, weren't they? I heard they were an ambassador now or something." 

"They are. But now that the Queen has returned, she is just as capable representing the kingdom on official business. She does it far more often, these days. I am told that the humans find me intimidating." Even if that were not so, Toriel does not approve of you escorting Frisk on your own. Or together with her. Or, indeed, with anybody else. You cannot blame her. You have seen so little of Frisk since leaving the Underground that they may as well be a stranger, and all they know of you is that you were once ready to murder them. Despite it all, they've still made a few attempts to reach out to you. Their capacity for forgiveness staggers you at times. But their mother does not approve, and you are not willing to go behind her back to speak with them.

She is better suited to all of it, anyway. You have always known what people said about the two of you - about who was the real brains behind the throne. You're not  _ that _ oblivious. 

"I mean, I  _ guess. _ " The flower rolls his eyes. Perhaps he is a teen? "But they can help with other stuff."

You furrow your brow. "...what do you mean?" Frisk certainly owes you nothing on a personal level. If you owe them anything, it is distance.

The flower opens his mouth as if to respond, then falters. His brow knits as well. Then he droops like he hasn't been watered for weeks and says in a quiet voice, "I don't really know."

The tips of his petals are nearly brushing the floor. You’re not sure what it is you said, but you regret it immediately. Careful to avoid any sudden movements, you lower yourself to one knee and reach out a paw. "I am very sorry, I seem to have forgotten my manners. My name is Asgore." 

He obviously recognized you to begin with, but that's not the real point. The point is that the flower glances sidelong up at you, distracted for a moment from whatever was going through his mind. A thin green vine creeps out from his stem, and slithers up to lay itself in your paw. "I'm Flowey. Flowey the Flower." 

His voice is still hollow, reciting the introduction like it’s rote. But you smile anyway. "It is nice to meet you, Flowey. I am sure you know the way to the Surface by now. You do not have to go there if you do not want to. But...perhaps I will see you again, the next time that I come down here?" It must be lonely, you don't add. 

Flowey grumbles a little, still not turning to face you. "Why would you wanna hang out with  _ me? _ "

You can't help but smile a little. It’s hardly as if your own social calendar is very full. "Why would I not?"

“ _ Lots  _ of reasons,” he sneers. “But...I guess I  _ might  _ see you around again. If you’re really gonna keep on spending time in this dump.”

“Well.” You allow your smile to spread. “I shall look forward to it.”


End file.
